


Old Fashioned

by mxwicked (SpacemanSpiff7)



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Drinking, Flirting, M/M, john wick cannot hold a conversation to save his life, john wick is oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpacemanSpiff7/pseuds/mxwicked
Summary: John gets flirted with on the job. Obviously, he does not know how to respond.
Relationships: John Wick/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	Old Fashioned

**Author's Note:**

> the idea of john getting flirted with has been scratching at my brain for like a month now, so I spat this out. if there’s enough interest, I might write a sequel. I hope you enjoy!

Just like Viggo to send him to a place like this. 

Flashing lights, pounding music, sweaty bystanders everywhere. John’s not opposed to silencing a few witnesses if absolutely necessary, but hundreds? Even he has standards. 

He runs over his mark’s information one last time. Joseph Glass, 6’1”, well-built, a fellow enforcer. His usual marks are all talk, no bite — politician types. Not Joseph. John’s already preparing for the worst. He’ll be lucky if he catches him by surprise. That first shot might be the only one he gets.

Joseph knows what he looks like. They’ve met. He also knows John is coming for him. But, unlike most of John’s marks, he’s taken on no extra security. After all, he usually _is_ that security, with a nearly perfect record. Instead, he’s surrounded himself with human shields—the hundreds of bar patrons that John will have to navigate if he wants a perfect shot. 

Nothing to do, then, but watch, and wait. People will trickle out eventually. His target will become clearer and clearer. One shot to the head, and John’s out of here. If not so he avoids the police, then so he can escape the infernal bass drilling into his ear. Is this really what is considered music?

He works his way through the crowd slowly, painfully, not exactly trying to fit in, but it’s working nonetheless. Sure, he’s overdressed, but the flashing lights provide few opportunities for proper assessments of one’s surroundings. 

He settles in a corner. The table is high but isolated, near an exit, and provides a pretty good view of the rest of the room. About as good as he can get. 

“Anything to drink?”

John looks at the waitress in surprise. Didn’t seem like this kind of place. “No,” he says shortly, giving her the slightest impression of a smile anyways, because it seems like she’s had a hard night. 

“Alright. I’ll be behind the bar if you need anything.” Her soft voice carries over the music, and John nods before turning his attention back to the dance floor. 

Some club. It reminds him of the Red Circle, in a way, but grimier. Less polished. No security, either—why should there be? John is briefly reminded of the gun he’s brought with him. Probably going to hire a few extra guys after tonight. 

Dinner reservations are common at the Red Circle. Here, not so much. 

Whether or not Glass is here yet, he doesn’t know. He scans the room slowly, absentmindedly tracing the outline of his gun through his clothes with the tip of his finger. 

_Make it quick and clean, John,_ Viggo had said. _No pencils. And it has to happen tonight._

_Baba Yaga._

John shakes his head inadvertently, his hair falling like a curtain around his face. Stupid fucking nickname. He ought to—

“Here.”

John glances up. 

The waitress smiles, setting down a drink and a napkin. 

“I didn’t—”

“From the gentleman sitting at the bar.” She gestures over her shoulder before walking away. 

John shuts his eyes and sighs. Stupid fucking intimidation tactic. He should’ve been paying more attention. Glass clearly spotted him first and sent him the drink to let him know. No other reason for someone to do this. Purposefully avoiding looking towards the bar, John takes a sip. Might be his last drink ever, anyhow. 

An old-fashioned. Interesting. 

Well, now or never. Glass probably has already drawn his gun. John shifts in his seat, discreetly positioning himself in a way that will make it easier to run. He groans, low in his throat, and once again lets his hand trail down to his gun. 

He chances a look upwards at the bar before he withdrawals.

It’s—not Glass. 

John stares. 

The man—not Glass—lifts a hand, perhaps in greeting. 

John ignores him, looking down the bar. There’s plenty of chairs, but no one’s sitting. Most people are just speaking to the frazzled bartenders before dashing off to the dance floor. 

She said _sitting_ at the bar, right? 

John settles back into his chair, letting out the breath he barely noticed he was holding in, and once again lets his eyes trail to the man. The man smiles, as if to say, _yeah, I sent it._

John stares back in confusion. Does he know him? 

If he had to guess, he’s probably of the Cosa Nostra. But there’s twelve families to choose from, and John does his best not to get familiar with someone he doesn’t have to, so he could be anyone - friend or foe. 

He has dark hair and glasses, a button up shirt with a pattern on it - are those _owls?_ \- and stubby facial hair. He’s around John’s age and doesn’t seem like the enforcer type. Probably someone’s kid, dumb and full of pluck and dreaming of the High Table. If John’s met him before, he can’t remember, but this guy clearly knows _him_. Despite this, the guy makes no move to stand up, just giving John a slightly puzzled look before turning back to his own drink. He taps his feet nervously at the base of his barstool. 

John sips his drink again. He probably sent it as a sort of peace offering, John decides - basically saying I see that you’re here, and I know _why_ you’re here, but I’m not gonna do anything about it, so you don’t have to do anything about me. 

If that’s the case, John respects the move. He files the man’s face away anyway - just in case - and resumes looking at the dance floor. 

Not Glass, not Glass, not Glass...Glass? John squints. No, not Glass. Might be a long night. 

“Hi.” 

John blinks. 

“I’m Adam.” 

John looks at him through his hair. The guy from the bar. He looks down at John, waiting patiently for a response he doesn’t get. 

“Mind if I sit?” he says eventually. 

John sighs. _Definitely_ some mob boss’s kid who doesn’t know when to keep his nose the _fuck_ out of other people’s businesses. He nods once. 

“Sweet.” The man sits, apparently not intimidated, which John finds a little surprising. He doesn’t look at him, though, instead still scanning the dance floor. 

“You here with someone?”

John shakes his head. 

“Leave anyone at home, then?” 

John taps his fingers against the table. Strange question. “No.”

“Good. Wanted to make sure I’m not overstepping.” 

Overstepping? 

“What brings you here, then? Strange to see people here alone.” 

Is he playing dumb? “Work.” 

“Ah, work event. I get it.” Adam grins. “Been there.” 

John’s face twitches briefly into a smile, imagining the situation. A work party with his colleagues would be...interesting. He makes no move to correct the guy, figuring it’s a joke. 

There’s silence, for a moment, and then John just has to ask: “Do I know you?” 

Adam shrugs. “Well, you do now. Why, do I seem familiar?” 

John’s not sure. Maybe he’s one of the clean up guys.  
“What do you do?” 

“I work in IT.” 

_Freeze._

The last John checked, the Sicilian Mob does not have an IT department. 

“I hope you like old-fashioneds. Wasn’t sure what to get; figured I’d go the safe route. What’s your poison, normally?” Adam smiles. 

“Bourbon,” John answers automatically, head still spinning. 

“Good to know. Wish my answer was something cool.” 

He’s obviously prompting John to ask him something, but John just stares at him blankly. _Wait. What is going on here?_

Adam smiles, his eyes a little sad. “Listen, sorry to bother you. Just saw you sitting over here, thought I’d try my luck.”

_Luck?_

“But it’s clear you aren’t interested. No biggie.”

 _Interested?_

“Maybe I’ll see you around…” he pauses, lacking a name. 

“John,” he fills in, the dots finally, _finally_ connecting. 

“John,” Adam repeats. “Nice meeting you.” He stands up. 

“Wait—” _What the fuck am I doing?_ “I didn’t—” 

Adam pauses, a smile dancing on the corner of his mouth. 

“I didn’t - realize. What you were doing.” 

“Oh.” He crosses his arms. “Never had a man send you a drink before?” 

“Guess not,” John grumbles. 

“I was wondering why you looked at me like that. So suspicious.” 

“Yeah, I’m—yeah.” 

“Well, once again, nice—”

“You can stay.” _What the FUCK am I doing?_ “If you want.” 

Adam grins, taking the seat again. “So...” 

John stares at him. 

“It’s been established...I’m flirting. This is flirting.” Adam gestures in between them, eyes sparkly under the lights. “I’m asking...you know, ‘get to know you’ questions, because you’re hot. And I want to get to know you. Got it?” 

John is amazed at his ability to make jokes in this situation. Also, _how am I supposed to answer that?_ “Um...got it.” 

“Awesome. Glad we got that cleared up. So, John…” He crosses his arms across the table, leaning forward. “What...what do you do?”

 _Ah, fuck._ “‘s not very interesting.” 

“Well, neither is mine. Hobbies, then?” 

“Book binding,” John admits. 

“Book binding,” Adam echoes, sounding intrigued. “Usually guys say, like, fishing. Never heard that one before. I get the sense you’re not like most guys, John.” 

John feels heat building in his cheeks. He turns away. 

“I also get the sense you don’t get out much.” 

He says nothing. 

“Here on work, you said?” 

“Yeah. This...isn’t really my kind of place.” 

“What is your kind of place, then, John?” 

Something about the way he keeps repeating his name...John neglects the dance floor just for a moment to meet his eyes. Brown. “My house, mostly.” 

“A homeowner!” Adam fake-swoons. “I’m not a gold-digger, I swear, but something about a man with a house…” he laughs, and John feels sweat on the back of his neck. “I live with a roommate. You can’t blame me.” 

“Roomate?” 

“Yeah. I’m here with her. That’s her, there—” he points, following the line of Adam’s finger. “In the red.” 

“Hm.” 

“Yeah, well, love her to death. Friends since we were kids. But, damn, what I would give to have my own place.” 

“‘s not that great,” John admits. 

“Oh?” 

“It can be…” he pauses. “Lonely, I guess.” 

Adam quirks an eyebrow. “Is that a proposition, John?” 

“Uh—” 

“I’m joking with you. Man, you are tense.” He reaches out, feels John’s forearm, and John watches his hand. “I mean, it’s clear you didn’t want to come out, but you sure needed it.” 

“Heh.” 

“Not much of a talker, then.” He leans back into his chair. “Duly noted.” 

“I—” John knows he should stop talking— “I’m surprised you’re still here.” 

“I can go if—” 

“No, it’s not that.” He turns his eyes back to the dance floor because it’s easier than looking at him. “It’s just—I haven’t been—not many people are, um, ever interested—” 

“Oh, shut up, John.” 

John shuts up.

“You’re gorgeous. Did you not know that? I mean, you own a mirror, right? My back hurts from carrying this conversation, but how could I resist?” 

John can’t deny it anymore. The heat in his cheeks—he’s blushing. _Embarrassing._ “I’m...flattered.”

“Well, you’re most welcome.” 

John fidgets with his sleeve. 

“Do I make you nervous?” 

John feels himself freeze. 

“I just...can’t really get a read on you.”

“I’m not nervous about...this.” 

“What, then?” He follows John’s gaze, which is fixed on the front door. “Worried someone’s here?” 

“...yeah.” 

“An ex?” 

John’s glad he handed him the alibi. He nods. 

“Ooh, that’s fun,” Adam says excitedly, straightening his back to better survey the room. “I hope they’re ugly.” 

John feels himself smile, but only for a second. “They are ugly.” 

He hears him chuckle. “That a joke, John?” 

He shrugs. 

Adam grins. “Well, tell me if you see them. We can get out of here.” Adam watches him, gauging his wordless response. “Or...I mean, we don’t have to wait.” 

John swallows. 

“We could leave now, if you want. It’s loud in here, anyway.” 

“I—” John hesitates. _Why the FUCK am I hesitating?_ “I mean, work, you know.” 

Adam nods, dragging a napkin over to his side of the table. “Fuckin’ work parties, man. Listen, though, if you ever wanna talk again—” he chuckles. “I mean, if you ever wanna hear _me_ talk again, you can give me a call. Got a pencil?”

John silently pulls one from his pocket, hoping it’s blood-free. Adam takes it and scribbles his number down. 

“Here ya go.” He slides it back over. “No pressure. Have a nice night.” 

Before John can say anything, he’s made his way to the dance floor. 

John stares at the napkin. 

_Adam, 5550110._

He stares up at Adam. He’s talking to his roommate, who’s staring back at John. She giggles.

John quickly looks towards the door, which happens to be opening. Someone walks in.

_Fuck._

_It has to happen tonight._

Glass stretches, surveying the room, no doubt looking for John. He enters the crowd, molding into the shifting mob of bodies. 

John’s gun presses against his thigh. Adam spins on the dance floor, throwing his head back and laughing. He makes brief eye contact with John, throwing him a toothy grin. 

_It has to happen tonight._

John stands. He’s glad he picked the door near the exit.

The cool alleyway air feels fresh in John’s lungs, and he’s grateful for the moonlight. He moves quickly past a couple making out next to the door and out onto the main sidewalk. Normally, he’d hail a cab, but he elects to walk instead, pulling out his phone as he does so. 

_is it done?_ reads a text from a blocked number. 

_no,_ he responds. _didn’t show_

_tomorrow then_

_tomorrow,_ John agrees, closing his messages. He hopes he brought enough for another night at the Continental. 

He pauses at a crosswalk and opens his contacts. He hits the plus sign. 

_Adam,_ he types, quickly, like he’s trying to prevent himself from backing out. _5550110._

**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments, kudos, credit card numbers, prompts, etc!! and thanks for reading!


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